


Lost

by lovesdaryl



Series: The Letter [3]
Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:50:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1906554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesdaryl/pseuds/lovesdaryl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to The Letter and part two of the series of the same name, as everybody wants to read the letter from The Letter. We might be getting there. :-)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Going out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [treenahasthaal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/treenahasthaal/gifts).



> As this story's got Daryl Dixon in it and he's alive and talking, be warned that there will be some Dixon mouth. ;-)

"Stay safe!" he mumbled out of the corner of his mouth, nudging her slightly as he passed her on his way to the car.

His conscience was killing him, just as it always did when he was leaving the prison for what had become a minimum of three days by now, what with the distances involved, to look for crazy Philipp Blake, the Governor of Woodbury, who had killed Andrea and Merle and his own second in command and tried to wipe out all the inhabitants of the prison because they wouldn't roll over onto their backs and join him, submitting themselves to his rule.

He'd gotten away at the end of his crazed attack using weaponized walkers despite all of them shooting at him. None of them had noticed him slipping away, and during all of his search runs with Michonne, who was no less determined to find the sumbitch than he was, they hadn't found a trace of him.

They were going out for the fifth time today. The sun wasn't quite up yet, and it was cold. A light fog shrouded everything that was more than half a dozen yards away. Despite the early hour, both Rick and Carol were up already to see them off.

"Nine lives, remember?" She smiled bravely at him, her lower lip trembling.

He couldn't bear to look at her.

Now that she no longer had to keep it short so Ed couldn't grab her by it, her hair was growing, and she had the loveliest curls that he'd ever seen. And he had always liked her smile on the few occasions that she'd had to wear it. With those curls and that beautiful smile she looked like a mischievous pixie. Where were these thoughts coming from?

He briefly caught her eye before dropping his gaze to the ground again. He could feel his face growing hot despite the chill in the air. His boots kicked up dust as he approached the small pea green car and opened the driver's door, sliding in behind the wheel as Michonne opened the passenger door.

Rick stepped up to the open door before Daryl could close it. He glared up at the former deputy, squinting against the rising sun. "What? Ya gonna give me that bullshit again? He's got nobody left, he's no longer a danger?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Looking uncomfortable, Rick sighed. "He's got nothing left. All his people are either dead or with us. You know how dangerous it is to go out there for days at a time ..."

"Yeah, I do, and you know how dangerous it is to allow a rabid dog to live", Daryl spat. "And that's what he is - a rabid dog, and he's out to kill every last one of us. I won't stand for it. We need ta find him and put 'im down."

"Look, Daryl, I really appreaciate that the two of you are doing this for us ..." Rick began again, but once more Daryl cut him short.

"And that crap ain't gonna fly with me neither", he barked, barely containing his furious contempt. "I ain't doin' this outta the goodness of my heart and you bloody well know that", he snarled. "Ya know what he did ta Merle. Ya know he killed him but let 'im turn so I'd have ta put 'im down." He inwardly cursed the hitch that crept into his voice at the last words, but luckily nobody else seemed to have noticed it.

Rick nervously twisted the gold band on his ring finger and Daryl's heart seemed to turn over in his chest. Maybe, if he'd managed to take the crazy bastard out while he was in Woodbury, the nutcases that had followed him wouldn't have attacked the prison and Lori wouldn't have gone into labor prematurely. 

He didn't have the first idea about being pregnant, but he did know it had been too soon, what with the women always chattering on about how many weeks she had left. If she had carried her daughter to term, maybe Lori would have lived to raise her. Rick wouldn't have gone to Crazytown for weeks - a place from which he still hadn't fully returned. Carl and Li'l Asskicker would still have both parents. Carl wouldn't have had to shoot his own mother in the head to keep her from turning.

He bowed his head in shame.

Merle had been right. He was a piece of crap, worth less than the dirt under Rick's boots. He sould really make life easier for Rick.

Keeping his eyes on the gravel outside the car, he mumbled: "Look, man, I know you need me here for this council thing of yours. I'll go out this one last time, and then, if ya still want me to, I'll join it. Put in more huntin', too, to feed all these new people better. I'll try ta do right by y'all. Deal?" At this last word he dared to raise his head again to look at Rick.

He was relieved to see him smile, but failed to notice the look of disapproval flitting across Carol's face ever so briefly at his words.

Rick, however, nodded vigorously. "Deal. You'll be back in three days' time, as always? You know we need all the manpower we can get here."

Again, Carol's face darkened behind his back. Everyone knew Daryl was working himself ragged, going out to hunt, going on runs, going on watch, yet Rick seemed to always be goading him into doing even more, while others weren't pulling even half their weight. But he was going out, putting himself in harm's way, and she wanted the memory that he took away from this moment to be a happy one, so she kept her thoughts to herself.

As Rick stepped back and closed Daryl's door she gave him her brightest smile and he nodded back at her, his teeth worrying his lip. Then he started the engine and the car moved off and out through the gates being opened by Glenn and Maggie who had taken gate duty to see them off as well.

He didn't speak for several miles, and yet once again he was grateful for his company. There was still so very much he had to learn about dealing with people, but one thing he knew: Most people, when thrown together by fate with someone who wasn't saying anything, would start talking about shit just to break the silence. One thing he really appreciated in Carol was that she was not one of those.

And neither was Michonne. He imagined the horror of doing this with nice, kind, chatty Glenn and shuddered.

Mistake.

But she surprised him and remained silent some more instead of asking why he'd shuddered.

More miles were spent not talking and he started to relax. As soon as he did, he saw her smirk. "What?" he asked.

Glancing at the odometer, she said: "It's taken you 35 miles to relax this time. You're getting better."

He raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Last time it was almost 52. Much better!"

He grunted. "This a contest?"

"Not at all, but it's not much of a secret that you're uncomfortable around people - well, with a few exceptions ..." She smirked again as he glared at her. "You try to get away from the prison every chance you get so you can relax and be yourself for a while."

"Myself, hm?"

She nodded. "Yes, but even once you're out you kind of, I don't know, have to get used to the idea of being alone again, and you can only relax once you've done that. And it takes you less time every time we go out." She sounded triumphant.

"You been keeping score?" he grunted.

"It's not that hard. It's only our fifth date."

He flinched as if she'd stabbed him. "'s is NOT a date", he growled emphatically. She laughed out loud, but it was a good laugh - not ABOUT him, as in making fun of him, but inviting him to join in, wanting to laugh WITH him. He allowed himself a brief snort as he really liked her. "Date, my ass."

They were silent together again for several miles before she spoke again. "So, what's up with you two?"

"What's up with who?" he grunted, keeping his eyes on the road. Obviously, there was no traffic, but he was wary of game and walkers jumping out of the woods lining the street. He'd never live it down if he managed to get into a car crash with no other cars in sight.

She produced an impatient sound through her nose that had him raise his eyebrow again. "You and Carol, who else?"

He snorted out an almost-laugh. "Yer seein' things. It's nothin'."

"In that case the whole prison is seeing things. The other men are all afraid to even look at her for fear you'll put a bolt through them."

When he didn't answer she looked over at him. He was totally not relaxed again. "I'm sorry. It's nobody else's business."

"Yer right, it ain't."


	2. Out

In the resulting quiet, his thoughts went back to the prison, back to her. He imagined the way her day was going to continue while he was away, this one and the two yet to come.

He knew that she hated him going out for days at a time again and again. He knew she was afraid for him. He'd come back bruised and bleeding often enough for her to know that nobody was safe out there, ever, and she feared that one day he'd get back to her and be beyond patching up - or not get back at all. Yet she also knew that he had to do this, for Merle, for himself, hell, even for Andrea, and she never spoke up about it.

There were no words - at least not in him - to describe how much he appreciated her and her understanding for him on so many levels. She teased and joked and fooled around when he was in the mood for it, but when he wasn't, she always sensed the darkness inside him and held back, even though she herself enjoyed this new, playful facet of their relationship very much.

She never pushed beyond reasonable limits, extending how far he was able to go in their teasing, joking and touching by the tiniest of steps, never overextending his boundaries so he wouldn't pull back. She always sensed when to relent and leave him alone for a bit again.

At first, after he'd watched her put his pickaxe to her asshole husband's head at their camp at the quarry and later on at Hershel's farm during his search for Sophia - his heart clenched and missed a beat at the thought of her - , he had found himself thinking that this quiet, subdued woman and himself might become good friends if Merle managed to keep his bullshit to himself.

As it had turned out, Merle was only to reappear for a very brief time and without making much of a dent in their relationship, and leaving with him when the others had made it clear that Merle wasn't welcome at the prison, even if it had only been for a short time, had opened Daryl's eyes to how important Carol really was to him.

Still fully focused on the road ahead even though he was lost in thought, he swerved around a walker shambling along just shy of the curb. Michonne gave him a surprised look. "What?" he grunted.

"Why not just run over him? Why risk swerving off the street?" she asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"He used ta be a person", Daryl shrugged. "With people who loved him, prob'ly. No need to run him down, mess him up." Her amazed expression told him, inexperienced though he was at deciphering this language, still very much unknown, that she hadn't thought him capable of such a humanistic view, so he quickly added: "Plus, he might damage the car. And I need to stay in shape." He had a reputation to maintain here, after all.

"In shape?" She sounded even more surprised than before. It wasn't as if spinning the steering wheel gave him much exercise - not that he needed it. What with constantly lugging around that crossbow of his, dragging his kills back to the prison alone, no matter how large and heavy, and stabbing walkers with his huge knife at the fence, the muscles in his arms and back were shapely yet bulging under his shirt, vest and the long-sleeved leather jacket he'd started wearing with the onset of fall.

"For the bike", he explained, getting impatient. "Can't hardly run 'em down when I'm on the bike, can I?"

She'd forgotten about the bike because the two of them always went out in a car or a truck, much as he hated spending several days in either. She had learned a lot about his limitations during these runs simply by watching him.

He hated small, enclosed spaces, and turning his back on people, and even when he seemed relaxed on the outside he was always tense inside, aware of his surroundings; watching for movements out of the corners of his eyes; keeping his ears open for the tiniest sounds that would have escaped everybody else's notice; highly observant and able to pick up even minute hints that someone had been in a place or done certain things that would never have caught her attention.

She was convinced, however, that these abilities had come with a hefty price tag that she didn't want to know about. She had a feeling that Carol knew even more about him, and might know about the price he'd paid as well, for they were very like each other in some of their mannerisms. She'd watched them both flinching simultaneously at loud yelling or shying away from someone touching them, and not because the touch came unexpectedly.

Daryl had noticed that she had spaced out and nudged her before taking a right toward a village they hadn't searched yet. All the other ones that they had already passed along the way today were marked with a black sharpie X on the map they used to keep track. She jerked upright from her hunched position and looked out the window. "We're this far out already?" she asked in surprise.

"Yep, time sure passed real quick, even without jawing away", he said smugly. As usual, they parked their car outside the village and out of sight among the dense undergrowth creeping ever closer toward the road. If Blake was really hiding out here, or even just passing through, there was no need to alert him to their presence.

They took care to close their car doors as quietly as possible so as not to draw either people or walkers lurking in the area. Shouldering his crossbow, Daryl gestured toward the woods and they both sought cover among the trees and bushes, ever careful to stay hidden as much as possible.

Once they reached the first houses Daryl took his crossbow off his shoulder and held it at the ready, even as Michonne unsheathed her katana, careful to keep it away from him. Making sure that there was nobody out there who would notice them, they stepped out from among the trees and methodically started searching the village for signs of human habitation.

They had developed a routine during their very first run of this kind. She would open the door, standing behind it, while he stood in front with his crossbow loaded, raised and ready to shoot. On the few occasions when he'd had to take down a walker before they could enter, she had taken point until he had retrieved his bolt and reloaded his weapon, at which point they'd switched positions again.

After perfecting this routine during their four previous runs it had almost become second nature to them and they functioned like a well-oiled machine. By noon they had cleared half the village and started looking around for a sheltered spot for their scheduled rest.

Before reluctantly agreeing to these runs, Rick had all but made them swear that they wouldn't take any unnecessary risks. If they encountered large groups of either people or walkers they were not to investigate but withdraw immediately. If they had to choose between obtaining something vital to the group and their own safety they were to always play it safe. Also, Rick had made them promise to rest as often and as long as either possible, and this included taking frequent breaks for food and drink.

Daryl could relate to that. He knew that, the more tired, hungry or thirsty they were, the more inattentive they were going to get and the more mistakes they were going to make. Therefore, even though he wasn't normally a stickler for rules, he always made sure to enforce this one.

They holed up in a cozy house that they'd only cleared of walkers half an hour earlier and could therefore be certain wasn't currently occupied by live humans, and broke out the rations and water they'd brought along.

She smiled inwardly at the corner of his lips turning up ever so slightly as he pulled out a bag of beef jerky, knowing that Carol would have remembered to put it into their supply pack especially for him. How he couldn't be aware of that woman's feelings for him was beyond her - and not just her, she knew. He glanced at her as he started chewing on the first piece of dried meat.

"'s almost totally empty", he mumbled after he'd swallowed his bite. "Musta been one o' those that got evacuated early."

She nodded. They had come across several villages like this, with only a handful of walkers in them, probably because the people who'd left in the evacuation, with every intention of coming back soon, hadn't come back after all and their dead loved ones had turned and were now lurking in what had once been their homes, grisly welcome home gifts for people who'd never return. They'd become welcome gifts for Daryl and Michonne.

The two of them finished their meal in silence, then sat in the oppressive midday heat for another few minutes, emptying their water bottles, leaning their heads back against the wall, eyes closed, alert for every sound. Finally Daryl produced a small clucking sound with his tongue and they packed up, erasing every trace of their being here, then went back out and resumed their search where they'd left off.

When they came across a small pharmacy Daryl picked it clean, taking everything they could use - antibiotics, bandages, splints, painkillers, the works. He'd often been on the receiving end of treatment with all of them and knew they were in constant demand. A drawer labelled "Vaccines" caught his eye and he emptied it into his backpack along with handfuls of syringes. Hershel would be delighted.

He deposited the bag in a relatively cool, dark spot, making a mental note to remember taking it along when they left. Nodding at Michonne, he stepped up to the next house and raised his crossbow.

He was unprepared for the ferocity with which the walker lurking right behind the door came at him. He barely had time to pull the trigger of his bow, planting his bolt between the ugly fucker's eyes, and when it keeled over its hands came to rest on his feet. Heart thumping madly, his blood roaring in his ears at the close call, he pulled out his bolt and wiped it against his pants, already streaked with goo from the half dozen geeks he'd taken out earlier.

"You okay?" Michonne asked quietly, stepping around the door. He nodded wordlessly, not quite trusting his voice yet, and she watched his free hand moving to his left rear pants pocked. It was a gesture she'd picked up on during their last run, and she wondered what it was all about. She frowned, but refrained from asking as she knew that, being a very private person, he'd just tell her to mind her own business.

When he'd calmed down, they searched and cleared the rest of the village before making their way back to their hidden car. When they passed the cool, shadowy corner where he'd stashed his pharmacy haul he reached into the shadows to pull it out and swing it onto his back when a bony hand closed round his wrist and started yanking on his arm. As the rabid growling filled his ears he briefly wondered how he'd missed this one the first time around before bashing its head in with the corner of his crossbow.

Wild thoughts of Merle and of his hand rotting on the roof in Atlanta swirled through his mind as he carefully inspected his wrist for scratches. Michonne raised a questioning eyebrow when he joined her in the alley off Main Street where she'd been waiting for him to catch up. "Got grabbed by one I'd overlooked", he grunted.

Alarmed, knowing what losing him would mean, she took his hand, looking up at him to make sure it was okay for her to touch him, and gently but thoroughly examined his forearm to make sure his skin hadn't been broken. 

At least, he thought with a measure of relief, looking at her katana as she turned his arm this way and that, if things should go from bad to worse he'd lose his hand to a clean, fast stroke with a keen-edged weapon instead of a rusty, dull saw. Again, his hand strayed to his pants pocket, a faraway look on his face. Again, she noticed, but didn't ask.

They went on.


	3. Night

Ripping one of the rabbit's hind legs off, he handed it to her, sizzling hot. She nodded her thanks and gingerly bit into it. They were sitting in front of a little cookfire they'd made in the basement of the last house they'd searched an hour before. The room had no windows they would have needed to cover, but it boasted two exits - one stairway behind a sturdy metal door, leading directly out into the garden, and another one inside leading up to the house's first floor.

It was clean and would be easy to get out of in case of trouble - not that they were expecting any. They had taken out a dozen walkers in the church and the town's little supermarket and hadn't found any signs of live humans currently living here before they'd decided to call it a day at dusk and headed back to this house.

He took a leg for himself, mumbled something unintelligible about "watch" and "wake up", and was out. Michonne smiled to herself. It was their second day out and he was getting cabin fever, not having been out in the forest on his own for two days. It wasn't that he didn't like her, she knew that. It was just that he couldn't stand not being alone for so long, not being able to escape to a watch tower or go on a ten hour hunt.

She moved the spit the rabbit was roasting on off the fire and scattered the few sticks Daryl had used to build it so it would die faster. It would need less watching that way and it reduced the chances of the smoke alerting people, on the off chance that someone actually passed by the house during the night. The smell of roast rabbit that was probably making Daryl's mouth water up on the first floor was bad enough.

She spread their blanket on the floor, put the backpack with their clothes on top of it as a pillow and lay down with a contented sigh. Two minutes later she was fast asleep.

.-.

It was completely dark outside, she saw as she took the last few steps up out of the basement. Daryl was leading her to the watchpost he'd set up in the living room, with a good view of both the front and back doors and the stairwell leading down to the basement and up to the second floor. Taking her seat, she nodded at him. "Catch some sleep yourself, I'll wake you up again before sunrise."

Nodding wordlessly, he made his way back to the stairs and started descending. It continued to amaze her how he was able to move without making any sound whatsoever, even though he was so sturdily built. She settled in for her watch when the thread of light that had made it to the wall of the stairwell from their basement room died as he closed the door behind him.

She liked having the night watch, not just here but also at the prison. Like Daryl, she wasn't one for idle chatter, and sitting here by herself suited her. Like Daryl, she enjoyed being out with someone so like herself in so many ways. Looking out the window into the overgrown backyard, she smiled quizzically as she reviewed their day out.

He'd almost stepped into a rattlesnake hidden in a patch of tall dry grass that morning and she had kept pulling his leg about it all day. In the end, he'd gone back there at noon, caught the rattler with a forked stick, killed and skinned it and barbecued it for lunch. She'd never eaten snake before and had to admit that it tasted quite good - especially when the alternative was canned corned beef with a best before date from before the apocalypse.

The night passed slowly and she guessed that she'd been sitting there for maybe an hour when she suddenly heard a noise from the basement. Nerves singing with tension, she unsheathed her sword as she rose and soundlessly moved over toward the stairwell. Was it possible that they'd overlooked either a walker or another human being hiding downstairs?

She hoped to be in time as she crept down the stairs, not as soundlessly as Daryl but quiet enough for the strange noise to continue undisturbed, sword in hand and raised high in front of her.

As she approached the door to their hideout it became clear that they hadn't really overlooked anything. The noise was coming from their room. She slid her tiny pen light from the pocket of her pants as she gently turned the knob and opened the door. Stepping into the room, she pulled it closed behind her and switched on the pen light.

Daryl was tangled up in the blanket on the floor, so much so that it seemed as if he'd been wrestling with it. He'd pushed the backpack pillow completely off and rested with his head on the concrete floor, next to his bunched up leather jacket - although "resting" really didn't seem to be the correct word for what he was doing.

He was moaning softly, and at first she thought that he was in pain. But then he raised one hand in a defensive, blocking gesture and said "No!" in a voice as loud and clear as if he were awake, yet his eyes were still firmly closed.

Alarmed, she stepped up to him and leaned down, her sword well out of the way so he wouldn't hurt either himself or her if he should hit it while lashing out as he wrangled with the blanket some more. "Daryl!" she hissed.

No reaction, except for another loud moan.

He was getting very agitated now, his hands and arms seeming to fend off a swarm of insects as he shouted out another desperate "No!" Then, still fast asleep, he all but curled in on himself with a whimper so full of fear and pain it brought tears to her eyes. 

She couldn't just stand here watching him wrestle his demons, past or present, any longer. For all she knew, he was reliving the cruel beating he had received at Woodbury before Rick and Maggie had gotten him out of there. Kneeling down next to him, she firmly placed her free hand on his naked shoulder. His skin felt clammy and cold to the touch. "Daryl! It's me, Michonne!" He flinched away from her hand, his eyes finally flying open.

At first he didn't recognize her and warded her off with both hands. When he realized she wasn't closing in on him, his left hand went for his crossbow and brought it up between them, loaded and ready to shoot. She didn't move a muscle and didn't say a word; she just watched him silently, giving him time to get back to the present, to this room, and very slowly he woke up to where he was and who he was with.

His bow clattered to the ground as he groaned and turned away from her. His left hand went to his pants pocket in that gesture that had become so familiar by now, resting on the fabric for just a moment without actually reaching into the pocket. "I'll take watch", he mumbled in a broken voice, hunching in on himself.

"No way", she said firmly. "It's only been about an hour, you haven't rested enough."

He glanced at her over his shoulder, his look saying as clearly as if he'd spoken aloud that they both knew he would't sleep again tonight. With a snort he picked up his bow and his jacket and rose to his feet in one fluid, graceful motion.

"Yeah, right, I'll rest real well after this", he grunted as he passed her and headed for the door. She closed her eyes in defeat as he left the room. She knew that this was their safety on the line, that she should have put her foot down and insisted he at least try to get some more sleep, but she knew it would be no use.

He'd thrashed about, caught up in nightmares, every single night they'd been out, on this run and all previous ones, and once they'd set in he usually didn't sleep again that night. Of course she herself had her own nightmares, but she had yet to wake up from one with Daryl watching her because she'd made a spectacle of herself. Apparently, she was a quiet dreamer.

Heading for the door with the blanket and backpack, she went up the stairs. 

As he usually loathed company after having one of his nightmares she didn't expect to find him in the living room, and she was right. The back door, which led into the dining and living room, was not quite closed which told her that he was checking out the garden. With anyone else out there on their own she would have been alarmed, but this was Daryl. She settled into the chair again to wait for him.

When he returned some time later he had calmed down again. "Sorry", he mumbled as he pushed into the room, closing the door behind himself. "Just got away with me."

"No need to apologize", she answered quietly. "We all get them. God knows we've seen more than enough since the turn to keep us awake at night."

Biting his lip, he looked down at his feet, then nodded. The moon, almost full, peered through the clouds racing across the sky, highlighting him.

"If I were you, I'd step out of that swath of moonlight", she suggested. "I'll bet I'd see you standing there if I was outside, looking in. We'll need to consider the moon phases when we go out the next time."

"Won't be goin' out again with ya. 'm sorry", he muttered.

Remembering his parting conversation with Rick, she asked: "You really meant that? You'll join that council of his and not go on runs anymore?"

"Jus' not these long ones. Only supply runs. 's not just Rick, neither." He looked away uncomfortably.

"Carol", she stated softly.

Blushing furiously, he flinched as if she'd punched him. "Yer seein' things", he repeated.

"Yeah, right, me and everyone else", she said jokingly. When he moved to get up from where he was seated on the floor, looking embarrassed, she held out a hand to stop him. "Don't", she begged softly. He remained standing, poised as if to fight or run, and she added: "It's cold outside, the weather's been acting up all day. You said yourself we probably had a thunderstorm coming. You really want to get caught in that?"

He still didn't answer. Avoiding her eyes, he checked his crossbow, making sure he had a bolt loaded, before his hand went to his back pocket yet again.

"I'll stop teasing you if you tell me what's in your pants pocket that you keep reaching for", she suggested with a slight smile.

He blushed even more, if that was possible, and again moved as if to retreat. Just then, the sky outside turned almost entirely white as a huge lightning bolt zigzagged across it, followed by a deafening thunderclap only a heartbeat later. Defeated, he hung his head and sank to the floor again.

"'s a letter", he mumbled, his face still bright red.

Not wanting to push him any further - after all, he'd already been through his nightly nightmare - she relented and wouldn't have asked anything else when, surprisingly, his hand went to his pocket again, two fingers sliding into it. She realized that he was about to get it out when his face suddenly turned pasty white, and not just because of the lighning bolt ripping across the sky.

As the rain started to lash the ground outside, soaking the dry earth, he gave her a stricken look. "It's gone."


	4. Back

Ever since it had become clear that she was not going to sleep again that night either, he'd started pushing for them to head back to the prison, and after holding out for a while she finally relented when the deluge let up and then stopped, making driving safer again. Maybe starting early wasn't such a bad idea. They'd been moving away from the prison for two days and even without any stops on the way getting back in one would have been a pain - and Rick would be expecting them to be back by nightfall at the latest.

They packed up their gear and stowed what they'd scavenged in their car for a long trip. The pharmacy bag briefly caught his eye and he absently rubbed his wrist where the walker had grabbed him as he'd picked it up. Even though he was pretty confident that he'd be able in the foreseeable future to fight off walkers even in close quarters he was beginning to see Carol's point. The close call he'd had with this particlar one made staying at the prison a bit more look almost attractive. But who could go out looking for that murderous bastard Blake in his stead?

With a quick glance up at the sky, where thick clouds were still hiding the moon, he closed the trunk before looking around for Michonne. When he saw her coming up the stairway from the basement he swung his crossbow off his back and stepped around to the driver's side of the car to wedge it in place on top of the stuff stowed on the back seat. Getting in behind the wheel he impatiently waited for her to put their supply bag and her katana into the car behind the passenger seat, get into her seat and buckle up.

"Let's try to cover some distance before it starts again", he muttered, starting the car as she closed her door. They didn't speak again until the next storm broke. 

He had been edgy and tense ever since he'd found his letter missing, snapping at her aggressively whenever she'd addressed him while they'd been preparing to leave for their prison home. She still had no idea who the letter was from or what it had said, but it was clear that it had meant a lot to him and she felt sorry for him losing it. What with them covering so much ground this time around, it would be impossible for him to retrace their steps in order to maybe find it again. It was a piece of paper, for goodness' sake - the wind had probably taken it the moment it had slipped out of his pocket. And by now, if it had been out in the open, the storm would have destroyed it.

By the time the heavens opened up on them again they had found a shed to hide the car and themselves in to wait out this second storm of the night. Michonne was glad they weren't out in this - the rain was sheeting down, and for five minutes it wasn't rain but hail that pelted the corrugated tin roof. Driving in this certainly wouldn't have been a good idea, even with Daryl at the wheel who was a very safe driver.

When it was over again, they set out once more, at a snail's pace at first on roads that were still half submerged. Even after the rain had finally run off, they still had to take it slowly because of the layer of mud and leaves left behind by it, with the occasional broken branch literally thrown in for good measure. She relieved him at the break of day so he could get some rest after the rough night he'd had.

They stopped for a hasty breakfast around mid morning, finishing the rabbit they'd roasted the night before. He even managed to get another one while they were stretching their legs before getting back into the car, and two squirrels and another rabbit during their second stop after he'd taken a leak against a tree a ways into the woods, out of her sight.

Before getting back into the car he leaned into it, carefully searching the floor around and underneath both the driver's and the passenger seat. He looked disappointed coming back up, and again she wondered about the letter. Maybe it had been from Merle?

She hadn't exactly liked his brother, but then again, she hadn't hated him either, once he'd come to the prison with Daryl and she'd been around him for a while. Unlike Maggie and Glenn, she hadn't been at the receiving end of the worst he could do, and he had clearly loved Daryl, even though he'd had a strange way of showing it. Maybe the letter had slippped in between the stuff stowed in the car. She'd keep an eye out for it. With all that Daryl was always doing for the group, it was the least she could do for him for a change.

They made good time after their second stop but had to detour later on because of a tree pushed over and into the road by the storms the night before which made their way back longer than the way out had been. Now she was glad that they'd started early. Getting back before nightfall would be difficult now.

She hadn't expected Daryl to be as eager as he seemed to be to get back to the prison. She knew that he hated being locked in with so many people, many of them strangers. He'd changed a lot in the time she'd known him, but he still wasn't a people person by any stretch of the imagination and it surprised her that he wanted to get back so badly. He powered down the road as if he had a plane to catch, unwilling to stop for anything but taking care of what he called "personal stuff" out of sight of each other but within calling distance in case of trouble, walker or human.

He revealed his motivation after one such stop early in the afternoon. By their map they still had about three hours to go, and he was determined to make good time. She smiled when she saw the three new squirrels that he'd taken out. "You're always thinking of feeeding them, even when we're out here on our own", she said. "You're a good man, you know that?"

He snorted in contempt. "Yeah, right. Shoulda told that ta Merle or my old man. Sure never could do anything right for those two."

"I don't care about that, and neither do any of the others. You're a good man. You feed and defend people, and you're out here looking for the biggest threat to their safety that we know of. They appreciate you, all of them. Some more than others ..." She could resist adding that last bit and enjoyed the furious blush that extended all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Ya said ya'd stop teasin'", he complained, glaring at her. "I sure told ya what was in my pocket." He looked unhappy again, remembering his lost letter.

"You're right, I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist. I hope we'll find your letter in the car when we're back."

"Actually, 'm not sure I even brought it this time", he mumbled, his hand going to his mouth so he could gnaw on the skin of his thumb. "Changed pants right before we left. I think I might've forgotten to take it out o' the old pair and put it into the pocket o' this one. Need ta check when we get back."

Her eyes widened. "That's why you're so eager to get back!" she exclaimed. "And here I was thinking that you were missing everyone's company so badly that you were going as if the road was on fire behind us."

"Yeah, right." This time, his snort sounded amused. "I just love company. I'm the heart 'n' soul of every party." Shaking his shaggy head, he started the car again.

They didn't encounter any more obstancles for the rest of the afternoon, and they were both relieved and happy when they finally topped that last hill and got their first view of the prison in three days. Reaching behind him, Daryl picked up his kills for dinner and his crossbow and put his left hand on the lock of his seat belt, already eager to get out of the car.

She quickly glanced over at him, assessing his appearance. Carol wouldn't be too shocked this time around. He wasn't injured, unlike the second time they'd returned after only two days out, when he hadn't even been able to get out of the car without help. He wasn't covered in walker goo as they hadn't had to do much close quarters killing this time. By current standards he was all but sparkling clean, with the minor exception of the mud spattering his boots and the legs of his pants from trudging through the forest after the rain. Just as she turned to look back ahead, she saw his hand automatically going for his back pocket again out of the corner of her eye, and realization hit her like a ton of bricks.

This wasn't about Merle. Never had been. 

This was about Carol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too much longer now ... ;-)


	5. Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

As always when they came back from their runs, Rick and his son were on gate duty, Rick on the outer and Carl on the inner fence, with Hershel waiting in the prison yard, an emergency medical bag at his side. All too often, one of their people returned with injuries so serious he needed to treat them right at the gate - and all too often in the past, it had been Daryl, who never considered his own safety when he was out there.

Michonne could see Carol arriving at the inner gate at a run, looking anxious. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to sit still beside her otherwise, Michonne stopped the car right after passing the outer gate, with Rick already closing it behind them.

She smiled at Carl through the windshield as he opened the inner gate for her and for Carol who stepped up to the car right away, her eyes on Daryl who was punching his door open and all but jumping out with the car still moving, yanking his kills and his crossbow out with him.

Carl nodded back at her as she got the small car moving again, passing him and making her way up to Block C. As her eyes were on Carl and the gate the whole time, she missed the brief exchange between Carol and Daryl, most of it wordless, but when she got out of the car at the entrance to C to unload their gear and the fresh supplies they'd brought, she saw him tearing up the gravel driveway. Frowning, she stepped aside as he burst in through the door without so much as glancing at her.

She walked around to unlock the trunk and was beginning to grab the first of their bags when the door opened again and Tyreese and Sasha came out.

"Saw Daryl storming in and figured you'd brought back new supplies. Good to see you're both back in one piece again", Ty said, coming up to her and picking up two large backpacks and a plastic bag. "Whoa, this is a huge haul!" he added when he saw that the little car was filled to capacity.

"We did our best. Daryl did his best. He almost got scratched by a walker over that bag of medical supplies he got." 

Tyreese's eyes widened. "Damn, Carol won't like that", he said.

Raising a questioning eyebrow, Michonne frowned at him. "The man himself told me twice over the past three days that I was seeing things", she deadpanned.

Tyreese laughed out loud. "We're having mass hallucinations then", he managed to get out. "They're eating each other with their eyes. And you should have seen her taking off when she heard your engine. Does it every time he comes back in from a run or from hunting, too."

"I saw her arriving at the gate, thank you very much", she answered, smirking. 

"It seems, then, that everyone is in on the secret except the protagonists themselves. I'm glad he didn't kick it, so we'll all get to watch what's next. " Tyreese had put his load down to open and hold the door to C for the two women.

Smiling at him and Sasha, she lifted her bags out of the car. "Don't tell me", she grinned. "Tell him."

.-.

Panting, his heart nearly exploding from his chest, Daryl pounded his way through C, slammed through the half open door into their sleeping quarters and barrelled up the stairs to his perch. Fleetingly he noticed his empty laundry bag and silently vowed that he'd hide it away in the future so nothing similar could ever happen again.

Game of Thrones, she'd said. The one with people getting slain by the dozen every second page and with boobs filling the spaces between murders. He seemed to recall someone saying that it had dragons in it. Well, maybe he had it confused with some other shit. That hazy memory dated back to before the turn, after all, and he wasn't no scholar and no real bookworm.

Grabbing the book from his small stack, he opened it and, sure enough, there it was, neatly folded, just as it had been.

Holding it in his calloused hand, he looked down at it thoughtfully. She hadn't read it, she'd said, and he believed her. She would never lie to him, of that he was absolutely certain. His trust in her knew no limits. Unfolding the letter, he looked down at what he'd written without really seeing it at all. Maybe it was time.

His skin was still crawling with the memory of that walker grabbing his left arm out of nowhere the day before. He vividly remembered his fear as he'd inspected his wrist afterward, thinking back to Merle's bayonet arm that had shocked him to the core when he'd seen him again in that arena in Woodbury for the first time since he'd left the camp at the quarry that morning and never returned.

Holding his letter to Carol in his right hand, he once again looked down at the wrist that walker had grabbed. He honestly couldn't say if he would have had the guts to come back here if Michonne had actually had to take off his hand or his forearm. 

Even though everyone seemed to think it, he wasn't stupid. He was well aware of the fact that he depended on his usefulness for others in order to work up any feeling of self-worth whatsoever. If Michonne had been forced to take off his hand or his arm it would have rendered him useless. A burden. A liability. Unable to take care of himself or others, unable to defend himself. 

Would he have been able to have her nurse him back to health and bear the sadness in her eyes every time she looked at him? Bear her pity, so much harder to take than that of anyone else? So much harder than the wordless understanding and support he'd been getting from Hershel, another kindred spirit, since he'd stitched him up at the farm?

Shaking his head, he abandoned this useless train of thought. He'd never been one for introspection, and he sure as hell wasn't going to start now. Gently folding the letter again, he put it back in his pocket almost reverently.

He'd wanted her to read this when he was gone. On the day that would surely come when he wasn't coming back from a run or from hunting. He'd been carrying it around with him ever since he'd written it the day after he'd had to put Merle down, trying to work up the nerve to give it to Rick to hold on to until the day came when he'd have to give it to her.

Getting grabbed by that walker the day before had made him all too aware of the fact that every day that he himself kept holding on to it could be one too many. He could have died out there on that run and she would never have unfolded that letter again, even after finding it, because she would have felt she was violating the trust he had in her. 

Oh, how well he knew her. He could all but see it playing out in front of his mind's eye. She would have sought out his perch, her eyes red and her face puffy from crying, taken the letter out of the book again and carried it around in his stead, but she would never have read it because he hadn't told her that she could.

He realized, of course, that just knowing she'd read it would make him super aware of how much he'd exposed himself in that letter. But at the same time he couldn't go on like this - afraid of truly losing the bloody thing and of dying knowing that she'd never get to read it when he really needed her to know what it said. Jesus Christ, even that thought sounded ridiculous, and he could almost hear Merle threatening to kick his ass for something this monumentally stupid.

"Just shut the fuck up, Merle", he grumbled as he adjusted his crossbow on his back and rose to his feet again, a little stiffly after being cooped up in the tiny car for days. "This ain't none o' yer business, so leave me the hell alone!" Merle obediently shut up and Daryl turned around, taking a deep breath to steel himself.

To his surprise, he saw her standing at the entrance to their block, still on the warden's side of the gate, looking up at him. Realizing that she might have heard him swearing, he blushed slightly and felt heat rise in his neck and cheeks. "Defintely stalker material", he muttered approvingly to cover up his insecurity. "Unlike Grimes, whom you can hear trudging along from a mile away."

Her smile looked slightly shaky, and when she addressed him after following him halfway up the stairs to his perch he knew the reason. "Michonne tells me you had a close call yesterday", she began in little more than a whisper. "One of them grabbed you?"

"Yeah", he mumbled, automatically looking down at his wrist again. She was by his side in an instant, her eyes going first to the book, empty now of its treasure, and then to his hand. With a quick glance up she reassured herself that he was okay with her touching him - she would never touch him without doing that first as he'd been touched in very bad ways much too often - and gently took his hand to inspect it much like Michonne had, only ... differently.

As it wasn't a big deal, really - all she was doing was hold and turn and look at his hand and wrist -, he wondered how this could be so different from the day before. He couldn't figure it out ... yet ... it still was. Whatever she was doing had his heart beating like crazy and his blood roaring in his ears.

She looked up at him again, his hand still in hers, and he was surprised to see her eyes brimming with tears. "What happened?" he asked, his voice suddently husky. "Why ya cryin'? Anyone die?"

Amazed at how ignorant he still was at the way she felt about him, she whispered: "You almost did."

"Naw, 'm fine, wa'n't nothin', he jus' grabbed me, didn't even try to bite. If he'd scratched me, Michonne could have taken care of my arm."

Realizing what this implied, she couldn't be brave for him any longer. Her tears spilled over onto her cheeks. Her lips formed his name, but no sound came out.

Bewildered, he freed his hand of her grasp and took a step toward her. "It didn't happen. Why're you so upset? Is it ...?" His voice trailed off. He was still unable to mention her daughter's name. His guilt at failing her so catastrophically was still overwhelming after all this time.

Unable to speak herself, she met his eyes and shook her head. She did take his hand in hers again, however, and he could feel her trembling as she cradled it protectively.

His eyes widened. Maybe, just maybe, it was possible that she wouldn't be mad at him for what he'd written.

He took a leap.

"Want ya to read it", he mumbled as he studied the splash patterns the mud had left on his boots and pants. "An' not jus' when I'm dead."

His left hand, the hand he hadn't lost, freed itself to move to his back pocket and he gently took out his letter to her. He looked at it for one last time before placing it in her palm and carefully folding her fingers around it. His skin seemed to catch fire just touching hers. From the corner of his eye he saw her still looking at him, but he wasn't that brave. His head stayed down.

"Wanted to give it to Rick so he'd give it to you when ... I mean, one day I won't make it back, and that's when I wanted him to ..." He ran his hand through his shaggy hair, brushing it back from his eyes. His thumb very briefly started toward his mouth but he checked himself in time and placed his hand on the strap of his crossbow instead, resting against his chest. Again he marveled at how fast his heart was beating.

"If that walker had gotten me yesterday, you'd never have read it", he continued after a moment, his head still down, his eyes on his hand now. "Thought I'd lost it last night when I didn't find it in my pocket, and that ..." He did look up at her now, his eyes desperate. "Just don't get mad at me, okay? If we can't be friends any longer, that's okay, but don't hate me, please."

He fled.

.-.

All her chores for the day were finished. The laundry she'd done in the morning - including Daryl's pants - was dry again, neatly folded and waiting to be handed out to the respective owners come morning. After cooking up what he'd brought back to feed everyone, she'd stayed in the kitchen and helped with the dishes. She'd taken him a bowl of the rabbit and squirrel stew he'd provided for, but of course, after their earlier encounter on his perch, he was nowhere to be found.

Sitting on the edge of her bunk, already in her sweatpants and the baggy shirt she slept in, she reached out for the folded piece of paper that had been burning a hole into her pocket ever since he'd handed it to her.

Knowing him as soul-deep as she did, she knew how agonizing this had been for him. Knew what it had cost him to give it to her himself, and talk to her about it. She couldn't imagine ever being angry at him for writing a letter to her. There was absolutely no way he would have written anything that could offend her.

Turning the letter over in her hands, she kept listening for him to return from the woods. She knew that, on the heels of a three day wait for him, she wouldn't be able to sleep knowing he was still out there. She'd been so grateful to see him jump out of the car and give her that small, tiny, reassuring nod, so happy that he wasn't hurt or even bruised this time, and here he was, already out on his own again.

Knowing that it was what he wanted, she unfolded his letter.

_Dear Carol,_

_You know I'm no good with words, but there's something I gotta tell ya. ___

_Now, don't get mad at me. I know it's not my place and you deserve better and nothing will come of this. ___

_But ever since ya told me at the farm that I was as good as the others, I've had these feelings when I think of you, and they're getting more fierce all the time. I know you don't care about me that way, but you're always kind to me and I really appreciate that. And you know that I would never try anything against your will. ___

_I'll always take care of you, and I hope I won't ever fail you again and ruin our friendship. You're the most precious person in my life, ever. ___

_We both know that one day I won't make it back. I don't want you to be sad or feel sorry for me then. I guess you know that I had a real shitty life before, but I enjoy it now that I'm here with you, and there's no need to be sorry. I just hope I'll last a little longer so I can be with you a little more. ___

_Don't be mad at me, please. Stay safe. ___

_Love, ___

_Daryl_

As she wiped the tears from her face she heard his heavy, tired footfalls coming up the stairs to his perch.

She rose to meet him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that we've all made it, I want to thank everyone who left kudos, reviewed or sent me a message. You've encouraged me and motivated me, and it's been great fun. I hope this final chapter hasn't disappointed you and that I've done him - and her - justice.


End file.
